Diamonds in the Dust Read online

  My chest is tight with tension when I reenter the lounge. The men are nowhere to be seen. Walking out onto the terrace, I lean against the wall and stare into the distance to where the water glitters with sparklers of sun. It’s a clear day, sunny and cold. I shiver without my coat.

  Sylvie steps out with two glasses of red wine. She holds one out to me. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

  I take the drink hesitantly.

  “It must be tough,” she says.

  “What?”

  She takes a sip of her wine. “Being the new girl.”

  “I suppose adaption is always tough,” I say vaguely.

  “They’re cliquish, my family.” She smiles. “It’s not easy to get in.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “You can call me if you’d like to talk or grab a coffee in town.”

  I look at her in surprise. “Thanks.”

  “I’m only here until the end of the month before the new semester starts, but feel free to call me in Paris.”

  “What are you studying?”

  “Law. My father isn’t happy about it.” She laughs. “He thinks I’m wasting my time.”

  “Why?”

  She sits down on the bench. “Because he’ll marry me off to some wealthy guy who probably won’t allow me to work.”

  “How can a husband make decisions for his wife?”

  She crosses her legs. “This is le milieu, baby. It’s just how it works.” Her gaze trails over me. “I’m not sure what I envy you more for, your ignorance or your freedom.”

  I look away. How ironic. As for ignorance, there’s nothing to envy. She unknowingly takes the prize. She has no idea how wrong she is about my freedom.

  “Hey.” She gets up and nudges my shoulder. “The men are smoking cigars in the study. They’ll be in there for a while. I can bum a cigarette from one of the guards. Want one?”

  I think about the night Maxime had taken my virginity. “No, thank you.”

  “Suit yourself.” She pushes off the wall. “Will you cover for me?”

  “What should I say?”

  “That I’m in the bathroom touching up my makeup or something.”

  “Sure.”

  She winks. “I love your outfit, by the way.”

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  Backtracking to the steps, she rambles off a number. “That’s my telephone number. Remember it. You’re going to need a friend to go shopping.” She salutes before cutting across the lawn to where a man stands guard.

  I’m not ready to go back inside, but I’m cold. I leave the wine on the coffee table. Rubbing my arms, I go over to the mantelpiece and inspect the photos. Most of them are of a younger Sylvie and Noelle.

  “Lunch is ready,” Noelle calls from somewhere in the house.

  Maxime comes to find me, smelling of cigars and winter. He drags his nose through my hair. “What have you been doing with yourself?”

  “I spoke to Sylvie.” I scan his face for his reaction.

  “Good.”

  “You’re not upset?”

  He cups my neck and brushes his thumb over my nape. “Why would I be?”

  “I didn’t think you’d want me to speak to your family.”

  “Sylvie is a good girl.” He kisses my lips. “What I said about Alexis stands.”

  “Where is he, by the way?”

  His face darkens. “Miss him?”

  “That’s not what I said. I was just wondering.”

  “No need to waste your wonderings on my brother, little flower.”

  Taking my hand, he leads me to the dining room. A table is set with the finest porcelain and crystal I’ve seen. I’m out of my depth, even more so when Hadrienne announces I’ll sit between Sylvie and Noelle, separated from Maxime.

  I hold onto his hand when he moves to take his seat.

  He looks at me. “What is it?”

  “What are we eating?” I whisper.

  He frowns. “Why?”

  I look from under my lashes at the array of knives and forks next to each plate. “I’m not educated in all those eating utensils.”

  A laugh bursts from his chest. It’s loud and uninhibited, and it makes everyone look at us, but he doesn’t seem to care.

  Lowering his head to my ear, he says in a low voice, “Just follow my lead.”

  Embarrassed about the room’s attention on us, I pull away to take my seat, but he holds me back.

  “For the record, Zoe, you’re a little uncultured, but you’re not uneducated.”

  Raphael clears his throat. My cheeks are hot when I take my seat. Cecile sits as straight as a statue, her eyes on her plate.

  I don’t know how I get through the three hour-long, five course ordeal. The only people who speak to me are Maxime and Sylvie. The rest pretend I don’t exist. Still, they speak English, which leaves the two older men mostly quiet. The afternoon is a disaster. It was a mistake to bring me.

  When the table is cleared, we move to the lounge for coffee. Noelle carries in the tray I’ve prepared.

  “Oh, dear,” Cecile says, eyeing the tray.

  Noelle giggles.

  I look between them. “Is something wrong?”

  Sylvie snatches up the sugar pot. “Nothing.” She disappears down the hallway and returns with a silver pot filled with sugar cubes.

  “That’s such an Anglo Saxon thing,” Cecile says.

  Hadrienne lights a cigarette. “Don’t get me started on the clothes.”

  Maxime stands. “Emile, Hadrienne, thank you for lunch.”

  “You’re leaving?” Hadrienne asks. “Already?”

  Maxime takes my hand and helps me to my feet. “We have a long way home.”

  It takes almost thirty minutes to say goodbye, and by the time we get in the car I’m emotionally exhausted. I don’t want to repeat one of these lunches any time soon.

  “Did you enjoy yourself?” Maxime asks as he turns the car onto the coastal road.

  “It was nice meeting Sylvie.”

  “I’ve been busy with work, but now that the deal’s done, we’ll go out more.” He takes my hand. “I promise.”

  I give him a sideway glance. “You don’t have to make an effort. It’s not like we’re dating.”

  “I said I’d look out for you if you behave, and you’ve been behaving very well.”

  I scoff. “I’m glad you approve.”

  “Don’t spoil it now.”

  “I’ve been thinking.”

  He smiles. “What has been going through my little flower’s mind?”

  “I want to learn to speak French.”

  He raises a brow. “I didn’t expect that.”

  “Will you teach me?”

  He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. “I can do better. I’ll get you a tutor.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why would you do that for me?”

  “Because I can. Why do you want to speak French?”

  I shrug. “Because I can.” So that no one can talk about me behind my back ever again.

  His eyes darken but the humor remains in his voice. “You and that sassy mouth of yours. I can think of ways to tame it, and I’m not going to hold out until we’re home.”

  Clenching the wheel with one hand, he pulls down his zipper with the other and frees his cock. Seeing him so hard for me just from a game of words makes me horny and wet. When he cups the back of my neck, I go down on him willingly, swallowing him like he taught me. I swirl my tongue around the head and suck until my cheeks hollow. He curses, saying filthy words in French. I don’t need a tutor to understand those. I take the power he gives. I own the groan that erupts from his chest. I own his release.

  Chapter 22

  Maxime

  * * *

  I watch Zoe through the open door of the dressing room while buttoning up my shirt. She sits in front of the dresser, applying her makeup. Her hair is twisted on her head in pretty curls. She’s wearing a red
dress with black heels, and the diamonds I gave her in Venice as a gift to commemorate our first time shines in her ears. She’s a vision. It’s hard tearing my gaze away to fit my cufflinks.

  I check my watch. We have an hour before the dinner. It’s a charity event to raise money for cancer research. I hate these galas, but I’m hoping it’ll do Zoe good. She objected, said she didn’t want to go, but she needs to be around people.

  Now that the Italian deal has been negotiated, I can focus on her again. I feel both lighter and heavier. We need the alliance with the Italians. It gives us access to their infrastructure, a broadened scope to move our diamonds safely, while the tax they’re paying to ship from our port doesn’t hurt, either. We’ve been at war for too long, wiping out each other’s men and resources. Hence, the deal is a good thing. Complicated, but good. It’s going to require some finesse in the foreseeable future. In the short term, it means I can spend more time with my flower.

  Yesterday’s lunch didn’t go as well as I’ve hoped. The men owe Zoe the respect she deserves as my lover. It’s an unbendable rule. However, I didn’t foresee how the women would react. I can’t really blame them. Of course, they’d frown upon her sharing my bed. Mistresses are a common occurrence among the menfolk in our circles, but you don’t bring them to a family lunch. A charity event, yes. A weekend in the Bahamas, definitely. While mistresses wear diamonds and sip champagne on yachts, the wives are home raising their cheating husband’s kids. I’d hoped Maman would’ve been more open-minded, if not for Zoe then for my sake, but I’d misjudged my mother’s tolerance and Catholic values. For as staunch as her values are, her tolerance is low.

  I still don’t know why Alexis didn’t show. If I haven’t fucked Zoe from the minute we got home to sunrise, I would’ve called him. He’s probably scheming behind my back like he tried to weasel his way into the Italian deal. Taking my phone from my pocket, I send a text to Gautier, telling him to tail my brother and find out what he’s so busy with that’s more important than a family lunch. For all the times the married men in my family have entertained their lovers on exotic islands and faraway dream escapes, they don’t back out when there’s a family lunch at home. Another one of our unspoken rules.

  “I’m ready,” Zoe says.

  I lift my head to look at her. The breath is knocked from my lungs. The dress clings to her body, accentuating her curves. The gown was my choice. I know she hates it, but she has no idea what a knockout she is with her slender neck and the milky skin of her shoulders exposed. There’s a flush on her cheeks again since she started taking long walks outside. Her skin and eyes glow, the freckles on her nose like a dusting of golden stars. She’s the epitome of innocence and purity. Only, I know she likes sex both sweet and rough. I know how to read her, how to give her what she needs, and I burn with satisfaction knowing I’m the one who corrupted her. Her moans and dirty little acts are all mine.

  “I don’t know about this,” she says, smoothing her palms over her hips. “I really don’t like these formal parties.”

  I take her wrap from the chair and drape it around her shoulders. “So you’ve said.”

  “I should stay. I’d rather watch a movie here where it’s warm.”

  “Not an option.” Hooking my arm through hers, I lead her downstairs. “I want to show you off.” Every man in Marseille and to the ends of the world needs to understand she’s mine. No one will ever stake a claim on her again, no man in the mob, and no man outside of the families. No one will be foolish enough.

  Her spine stiffens. “I’m not a showpiece.”

  “You are whatever I want you to be.”

  She pulls to a stop. “I don’t want to be auctioned.”

  “It’s for charity.”

  “What happens after the bidding?”

  “You dance with the highest bidder.”

  “Just a dance?”

  Unfortunately, no. Mostly not. The high society of Marseille enjoys a bit of swinging while raising money for a good cause.

  She yanks on my sleeve. “Is the winner going to expect sex?”

  “Most probably.”

  Her nostrils flare. “Is this why you dressed me up like a slut?”

  “Careful, Zoe. One, you look beautiful, and two, you should really remember to trust me.”

  “To trust you to whore me out?”

  A nerve pinches between my shoulder blades. We were doing so well with her obeying me blindly. I grip her arm. “You’re not a whore, and I’m not tempted to make one of you.”

  Her words are spoken breathlessly. “You already have.”

  My anger starts to simmer. A curl slips loose from her updo as I shake her. “Take that back.”

  “I can’t.” Tears pool in her eyes, giving them that expressive edge I love so much. “I can’t take back my virginity.”

  Bringing that up now makes me angrier, because I don’t like how she puts it. I don’t like how she sees it.

  “We made a deal,” I say through clenched teeth.

  “Exactly.” She stares up at me, fearless but wary. “For which I’m paying with my body. Tell me that doesn’t make me your whore.”

  I shake her harder. More curls fall to her shoulders. “It’s nothing like that.”

  “If that’s what you believe, you’re lying to yourself.”

  I march her backward with a palm on her chest and slam her body against the wall. “When have I ever treated you like a whore?”

  “Whores get paid.” Emotions swirl in her eyes, teardrops trapped behind a brilliant blue. “You’re paying me with my brother’s life.”

  Grabbing her neck, I fold my fingers around the slender column. “You’ll be wise to shut up now, Zoe.”

  Her chest heaves with breaths. Her palms are pressed flat on the wall next to her hips. She’s scared, but she doesn’t back off. She keeps on fucking pushing me. “Can’t face the truth? The diamonds, the clothes, the tutor, what are they if not payment?”

  I squeeze harder. “Gifts. Fucking gifts, you unthankful little—”

  She lifts her chin, defying the hold than can snap her neck. “Say it.”

  Goddamn. My grip slackens.

  “Go ahead,” she says. “Finish what you were going to say.”

  “Bitch,” I grit out, my whole body shaking with anger. “You unthankful little bitch.”

  Fuck dammit. It’s true. Every word she said is chiseled down to its naked, hurtful truth. I made her a whore, but a cherished one. Alexis would’ve done so much worse.

  Her body sags against the wall, her tiny frame crumbling. “Is this what showing me off means?” She sweeps a hand over the dress. “I look pretty for your friends? You share me when the mood hits?”

  Slamming a palm next to her face on the wall, I lean in. “You don’t know me, remember? If I’m ever inclined to share, you’ll do as I tell you, and you’ll do it with a smile on your face. If I tell you to swallow my best friend’s cock and take it in your pussy and up your ass, you’ll do that, too.”

  I don’t have a best friend, and I’d rather saw off my dick than share her, but she doesn’t need to know that. She doesn’t deserve the power of that kind of knowledge. What she does need to know by now is to fucking trust me. I guess we have a few more lessons to go.

  Her blue eyes are awash with anger. “You’re an asshole.”

  No arguing that fact. It’s the hurt in those pretty baby blues that hits me squarely in the chest.

  “We’re going to be late.” I grip her wrist and drag her behind me, my earlier good mood down the drain.

  She doesn’t say a word as we get into the car and drive to Marseille. She stares from her window at the dark landscape. I clench the wheel so hard the ring with our family crest, the same one my father wears, presses a groove into my finger. It’s the ring the head of the family wears, the man who makes the decisions. The weight of it leaves a mark on my soul. Of all the sins I’ve committed, Zoe is the biggest one, the stone that drags me under and drowns me. She cons
ented, but I didn’t give her a choice. The only choice I gave her was how to look at the situation, how to see herself. I wanted to give her pretty, and she had to go choose the ugly truth.

  Fuck.

  I slam the wheel. Zoe jumps. She huddles closer to the door, her shoulders turned away from me. I want to remind her of that choice, but it’ll be a lie dressed up in glitter, in diamonds and red, and it looks like Zoe is done pretending. She’s done living in a dream.

  As paparazzi are flocking the main entrance to the casino, we use a back entrance. I promised my father I’d be discreet. The casino belongs to a distant uncle. The annual charity event is held in the big hall. I greet a few people, mostly business associates, and introduce Zoe as my date. She’s tense on my arm. I’m still angry, too angry to set her at ease. Where I was looking forward to bringing her here only an hour ago, I now wish this night was already over.

  “Max.” A sickeningly handsome man with dark hair, brown eyes, and an olive skin tone pats me on the shoulder. “Good to see you,” he says in French.

  Fuck. Paolo Zanetti’s son. We’ve only met once. It was a couple of years ago when we had our first talks about making a French-Italian connection. He’s one of Zanetti’s specialists, a genius at money laundering. At twenty-seven, he’s young for the high position he holds in their organization, but I respect his brains. I hate his pretty face though, and when he smiles at Zoe, I downright detest it.

  What the fuck is he doing here? There can only be one reason.

  “I didn’t know you accompanied your father,” I say, barely holding the ice from my tone.

  “I’m getting to know our new partners.” His brown eyes tighten the minutest fraction when he turns them to Zoe. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your lovely companion?”

  I switch to English. “This is Zoe. Zoe, this is Leonardo, a business associate.”

  Taking Zoe’s hand, he asks, “Zoe who?”